Like this:

It is becoming increasingly impressive how a poem written at the start of a week ends up as being more apposite than when first written. It is almost as if life is imitating art. In this case, this is a pretty accurate representation of the balancing act that takes place between my brain and body, and that the consequences of ignoring one for the other does end up having a physical affect on my life.

I think I might go have a nap after I’ve scheduled these poems.

Did It Again

Waking again before the dawn
With mind racing, ideas unborn:
Creative need inspires the soul,
But is not helping body’s whole.

This always happens, every time
Believing everything is fine,
My creativity demands
Physical cost, out of my hands.

For days the sleep I badly need
Is sacrificed, comfort concedes
Battle to my higher functions,
Causing physical malfunctions.

These bruises, bumps and scrapes attest
Physical status is oppressed:
No need now to co-ordinate,
Make use of brain, before too late.

When finally the moment’s passed
My body’s first request, when asked
Is not for exercise we skipped
But simply for a nice, long kip.

Like this:

Yet again, this poem ended up far more personal and revealing than was first planned. It’s odd how that happens, that the generic starting point almost inevitably sublimates into something far more subjective. In this case, this poem ended up being the final poke required to make some much needed change in my personal life. This week has become hugely significant, and I’m cautiously optimistic looking forward that the next few months will be hugely positive in terms of change.

Like this:

On the flipside of our poetic juxtaposition for the week, I’m back in the land of rhyming which, for the record, I’m not a huge fan of right now. However, the number of people who inform me that unless it rhymes it’s not poetry is sufficient for an unruly mind to accept the direction being told to head in.

In the end, this also ended up as being far more personal than expected. That seems to be happening a lot of late…

True Beauty

Look closer, see what lies behind
A preconception, state of mind;
Is what you sought a truth believed,
Simply surface, vision deceived?

I’d like to take a moment to state, for the record, I am INSANELY proud of this week’s Micropoetry. Firstly, I used the French term arrondissements and rhymed it in a manner that was not only relevant but utterly awesome.

Second of all, I wrote a love letter to my favourite city: it is perfectly acceptable to express love for a place, I am reliably informed, and this is a town I fell in love with at an early age. It is where my husband proposed to me, and where we went for our honeymoon. It’s also where I spent my 50th Birthday, and (if I have the chance) is probably where I’d retire. Mostly, Paris is amazing, and as a result, utterly deserves more poetry to be written about it.

This, I feel, is a pretty decent start.

My One and Only

Will never fail to understand
Always willing to take my hand
My one and only soothes the soul
Returning peace, making heart whole.

Her arrondissements surround
Life weary girl: effect profound
Agreement between life and death
Remaining even when I’ve left.

Like this:

I am gonna have a hard time bettering this week’s offerings next week, and suspect it could be time for a change in tack on the ‘romance’ front. Whereas the Haiku is clearly doing the dirty this week, the Micropoetry decides to be a bit more reflective in its dissection of passion between the sheets. However, people are still having sex, the word orgasm gets used and so this might cause a bit of a ruckus in certain circles.

Please consume your erotic literature (in all its forms) as responsibly as possible.

Like this:

Love is not all it is cracked up to be. With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, for some the whole sordid affair is less than attractive. What is often forgotten are those stories that won’t sell flowers or chocolates. This poem is one of those and is based on a true story. I realise how lucky I am, having been with the same person for many years, and that the sanctity of marriage is not actually a guarantee you’ll end up being treated either fairly or decently.

Every relationship has the possibility of going south really fast. In this case, it took a decade for the deception to be exposed.

Hate

Here you are, attentive:
Yet somewhat sarcastic,
No longer that fantastic.
What we possessed has gone;
Love evaporated,
Relationship outdated.

So overly cheerful
As to become grating
Then slightly nauseating.
Acting like a grown-up:
No need to be twisted
I might yet have persisted…

Were it not for the fact,
You’ve been sleeping with him
My own younger kith and kin.
Grasping one’s not enough,
Wanting to pleasure both?
Abuse of the marriage oath.

Sexuality’s fine,
Not where objection lies
Enjoying both girls and boys.
But you married me, not
My brother, so therefore
High time I showed you the door.

Hate’s a really strong word,
We both feel that from you
Now the truth has been cut to:
No longer so happy,
Bring deceit to a close.
This deception is exposed.